Not Alone
by Ranowa Hikura
Summary: Post-war. Kakashi saves Yamato from the Akatsuki. Yamato has trouble believing he's been saved. Also, little miniature Hashiramas. No pairings.


Totally inspired by the fact that Yamato is STILL. IN. THAT. CAVE. Seriously, does anyone even remember he's there? He's too adorable not to be saved. Well.. this is the fourth time I rewrote Kakashi saving Yamato. I just couldn't get it right. I ended up being inspired by checkerbloom's 'Waking Up', a similar story to this, just much better and with Kakashi in Yamato's place, Team Seven in Kakashi's. You can find it on here or A03. Enjoy!

* * *

The first time Yamato woke up, he was freezing.

It wasn't really fair. He had been so cold, for so long. He'd love to be warm again, just once, before- …

Raising eyelids that weighed down like blocks of lead right now was far too much of an effort, so he decided against even trying. It wasn't as if there was anything particularly appealing for him to look at. Just the dank darkness of the Akatsuki hideout. Maybe Kabuto, Madara, or Zetsu would be here, but unlikely. Once they'd gotten what they wanted out of him, he'd been left alone.

Yamato would've winced at the thought if moving was a possibility. How long had it taken them to break him? How many had died because of the information he'd given up?

He didn't know, and he didn't think he wanted to, either.

Why was it so cold here?

Maybe it wasn't the room that was cold, because that really wouldn't be very practical. Maybe it was just him that was cold. It had been a long time since they'd fed him. He wasn't hungry anymore, couldn't really remember what that felt like, but starving to death would probably explain why he was so cold.

That was a shame. He really would like to feel warm again…

* * *

The second time Yamato woke up, it felt like only a second later. He didn't remember falling asleep before, at any rate, but he must have, because he felt different. He wasn't quite as cold anymore, and the weights on his eyes weren't quite as heavy. He felt like moving wouldn't be such an impossible ordeal after all, and perhaps he would try it in a little while.

But he was dying, wasn't he? Shouldn't he be feeling worse, not better?

Maybe Kabuto wanted to use him for something else. More questions for him, perhaps, or just his Hashirama clone cells. Couldn't use Hashirama clone cells if they were all starved and dying like he felt he was.

He pictured little miniature Hashiramas running around inside of him, searching for food, gnawing away at his bones and organs for sustenance, and wanted to laugh aloud.

Then he wanted to sigh, because if he was thinking like that, then there really wasn't much time left for him.

Stupid Orochimaru. Stupid Kabuto. They could've kept their little miniature Hashiramas to themselves and he wouldn't have ever ended up in this mess. Stupid wood powers that he didn't want.

Yamato managed a sigh now, because complaining had never been his style- but he couldn't see anything else to do in this situation except wait for death. But sighing and then hearing the little breathy exhale made him remember that he still had ears, and even if he couldn't feel his own head he could still use his ears. He could still hear things.

Not very well, it seemed. It wasn't silent, he knew that, but just what he was lying here listening to, he couldn't tell. There were sounds that didn't fit with the Akatsuki's lair, but he didn't know how to place them, and his brain was too tired to describe them as anything but not right. One of the not right sounds was especially not right, though. Continuous and changing; like a voice, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was low and deep, what might possibly be words unintelligible but definitely present.

He felt sleep coming this time, but before it took him over, he thought that if that voice wasn't certainly Kabuto's or Madara's, he felt like he could like that voice. It was nice, for keeping him company in the dark.

* * *

"…and that is the date of the first recorded use of the arch. The inventor of this innovative idea was paid highly by the daimyo, and-" A cough, a pause, a sigh.

Oh. He was awake again. And listening to someone talk, it seemed.

"And then the arch exploded, and the inventor of said arch joined a harem because without his arch, he was sad, and had no purpose in life. The daimyo took his money elsewhere, and the most boring book in the world was never written, because there was no arch to write it about. …I'm sorry, Yamato, it doesn't say that. It would if it were an Icha Icha. Which I miss. But it's not, because I know you don't like them, and would die to know that I was sitting here reading it to you."

Kabuto liked those books, too? Why did every silver-haired bastard in the world like them?

Then again, Kakashi would probably be nicer to him than Kabuto. Yamato shouldn't have thought of him as a bastard. Kakashi wouldn't be mean and ask him questions he wasn't supposed to answer about his village, Kakashi wouldn't be mean and hurt him if he didn't answer. But Kakashi knew those answers already, so he had no reason to ask anyway. Kakashi also wouldn't care about his little miniature Hashiramas, like everybody else always did.

Unless little miniature Hashiramas were willing to build a couch for him to be lazy on. Which they usually were. They liked Kakashi, for some reason.

He really should stop thinking about little miniature Hashiramas.

But it was too late, and all he could think about was a giant Kakashi ordering hoards of tiny Hashiramas around, making them build couches upon couches upon couches for him. And as he went back to sleep watching this, he also listened to Kabuto continue to talk, reading about an arch and not Icha Icha, and he couldn't help but wonder where on earth Kabuto had gotten a copy of his favorite book.

* * *

The heavy mist clouding Yamato's mind had lifted a little more when he drifted back into the waking world once again. He could feel his body, this time, and felt more like an aching carcass grounded in the physical realm instead of just a disembodied spirit.

It was a pity, because being a spirit felt nicer than this.

His whole body hurt, from his eyeballs to his toes. Now the little miniatures Hashiramas were pounding away in his head with pickaxes, upset with him for for some crime he didn't remember committing, and the rest of him was hungry and tired and cold and _ow_. If this was what not-dying felt like, then he wanted to go back to dying.

Except he was pretty sure he was still dying. Although that didn't make any sense, because he was becoming more and more aware, not less and less.

Whatever was going on, the voice from before was gone. Now that he felt a bit more awake, he decided that the voice didn't really sound at all like Kabuto, and it didn't make any sense for him to be reading _History of Architecture _to him, anyway. That left him at a loss for who _was_ reading that to him, though.

Back to his aching body. Because he cared a little more about why he hurt so much than who was not-reading to him anymore. He still felt cold, but also covered in an itchy sort of warmth from his feet to his neck. He buried his toes in the warmth, not even caring when they hurt, and would've buried his head in it if a) the warmth continued up that far and b) he had enough strength to move something as large as his head.

Was it a blanket, maybe? It certainly seemed like it. But why would Kabuto have given him a blanket? Or whoever had been reading _History of Architecture_?

The itchy warmth extended up to his chin, except for his hand, for some reason. His hand was out in the cold, and he would've shivered and protested if it weren't for the fact that a not so itchy warmth encased it. This felt gentler and softer. And, unlike the blanket, it was actually doing something to warm him up.

Yamato was intrigued. Except being intrigued sounded like it took a lot of effort, so maybe not. Just mildly curious. Intrigued meant opening his eyes and investigating into that strange, nice warmth. Being mildly curious meant just wondering about it without _doing_ anything about it.

Crap. The warmth was bothering him too much. He couldn't go back to sleep not knowing what it was.

_Oh, what does it matter, anyway? I'm still dying. Who cares if my hand is warm? _

_Little miniature Hashirama cares._

…_No, he doesn't. Shut up. _

Perhaps he had spent a little too much time with Zetsu during his imprisonment.

Yamato deciding that dragging his eyes open wouldn't be too much of an ordeal. And, given how he felt right now, if he could manage that, then he could surely manage _anything_.

He was expecting to see dark. That was what he got.

But not as dark as he was expecting. He'd been prepared to see Orochimaru-hideout-esque evil-bad-guy-cliche-underground-dungeon dark. This was more like someone-turned-the-lights-out dark.

He was also in a room. As in, a manmade room with four walls and a ceiling- not a vast earth cavern carved out by the elements. The ceiling was an off white, with shadows arcing across it, and that was just _weird_, because for shadows, there had to be light, and there was never any light in the Akatsuki hideout.

Onto that troublesome warmth, though.

Turning his head… turning his head… turning his- oops, bad idea. Just moving made everything suddenly hurt much, much more, and not just his head, either, and now he didn't care about that stupid warmth and wished he could take back ever even opening his eyes.

Yamato just concentrated breathing for a long time after that. The longer he held still, the more the pain abated, until finally it was as if he'd never even moved at all. Though it had certainly taken a while; he was exhausted again, and sleep sounded better and better. He could investigate that warmth when he woke up.

Except not. Shinobi senses said it was dangerous to sleep next to the unknown. He should look into it now.

Inwardly cursing stupid shinobi senses, Yamato dragged himself back from Morpheus's arms and lowered his gaze until it landed on his hand.

He stared blankly.

He was supposed to be dying. He was _supposed to be_ held prisoner. And if he was a prisoner that was supposed to be dying, this didn't make any sense.

His hand was warm because somebody was holding it. And using it as a pillow. In his experience, Yamato had never found bony knuckles as very comforting to rest his face on, but it seemed this odd man did. His head was turned the wrong way, so all he could see was a fine silvery mop of hair. It wasn't Kabuto, though; Kabuto's hair was longer, and more grey than silver, anyway.

He recognized that hair, actually. But it just didn't make any sense for Kakashi to be here.

Now that he thought about it, the voice from before did sound a lot like Kakashi. And nice, deep-voiced stranger had mentioned liking and missing Icha Icha.

But it wasn't Kakashi, because if it was Kakashi, then he wasn't dying, and Yamato was still pretty sure he was.

The last thing he thought was that, even if he was dying, it was still nice for Not-Kakashi to keep his hand warm while he did it.

* * *

"…the evil djinn kidnapped the princess! Who will help us? We need someone to rescue her, but who could be brave enough to do it?"

"I will do it!"

_This is weird._

"And everyone turned in disbelief and amazement to stare at the speaker. He was a wanderer, a traveler, but long weeks on the road had left him very much in shape, and the few scars he had obtained told of his amazing strength and the terrible enemies he had faced. Women swooned at his entrance, and the man approached the king without hesitation and smiled, showing off his perfect teeth. "My name is Jiro, and I will gladly save Tsunadi-hime for you!Such a task will be nothing for a man of my valor and abilities!"

"The king agreed without even a moment's thought, for surely, a man that looked as good as Jrio did had to be telling the truth. But before Jiro could leave on his harrowing journey, one of the village maidens approached him. 'Oh, Jiro!' the busty woman cried, flinging herself at him and pressed her beautiful body against his. "You're so brave! Please allow me to assist you on your journey!"

_Uh..._

'But I could never allow a delicate woman like yourself to come with me, Matsumi! It will be dangerous, and you could get hurt! Furthermore, a woman of your figure, with such beautiful big boobs like that, has no place on the road! I couldn't bear the thought of a woman getting hurt because of me.'

"Oh, Jiro!" she gasped. "Such chivalry! I can't stand it anymore; you have to take me now!" And with no need for further words, she wrapped one arm around his neck, allowing their mouths to meet in a heated kiss, and pressed the other hand against his growing erection-"

Just what was this supposed to be? Another form of torture?

The nice, deep voice broke off suddenly, which Yamato was glad for, because the story had been getting awfully ridiculous. That, and he absolutely hated hearing sex scenes read aloud, and that was probably where that story was going. He had had enough of Kakashi reading his silly Icha Icha to him on missions, trying to convert him into a fan. Did he have to listen to it as he was dying?

Dying took an awful long time. Maybe… maybe he wasn't?

Last time he'd woken up, he definitely hadn't been in the Akatsuki hideout anymore. And that had looked like Kakashi next to him. And, in fact, every time he woke up, he felt stronger, not weaker. That wouldn't be the case if he was dying.

Could it be…?

Had someone come back for him?

He tried to crush down the hope that thought caused. It wouldn't do to hope now. He had already accepted death, had already accepted that he wouldn't see his home again. Letting himself hope now would ruin all of that.

"Maa… I guess reading Icha Icha to shock you into waking up isn't going to work. Oh, well. It was worth a try."

Whoever that was should stop talking like that. Stop trying to make him hope that there was something waiting for him other than death.

"I'll bring back your favorite tomorrow, Yamato. That thing puts me to sleep, so I don't see how it will help, but… you seem to like it."

They really needed to stop. The Akatsuki didn't care what he liked, and that wasn't Kakashi, that was the Akatsuki. The Akatsuki who was reading to him, for some reason, and keeping his hand warm and staying with him and keeping him company and-

"The others are worried, you know. Naruto and Sai came by earlier today. They don't understand why you're not waking up. Sakura checks up on you whenever she can… she says she doesn't understand it, either. Which means something is going wrong in that head of yours. …It's been over a week… I- I'm worried, too"

Naruto? Sai? Sakura? Why would they be worried about him?

…Okay, maybe he would be worried if one of them were captured by the Akatsuki. But that- that was different. He was their captain. He was supposed to worry about them if they got hurt or were in trouble. Like the way Kakashi sometimes worried about him- he hoped, anyway. He hoped Kakashi worried about him. At least a little. It probably wasn't a very nice thing to think, and was definitely selfish, but the idea that someone cared about him enough to be worried was a nice one.

"If I gave you an order as your senpai to wake up, would you? Hmm… I don't know. You're my favorite kohai for a reason- well, multiple reasons, I suppose- but one of them is that you always told me so when I gave stupid orders. You never followed them if they were stupid. Usually being too risky with myself or too protective of you… I don't think you realized, Yamato, but you taught me how to be a captain just as much as I taught you how to be an ANBU. Thanks for that- for being so dependable that I didn't have to worry I would get you killed, too."

There was an awkward silence then, followed by a soft chuckle. "Well, reminiscing about the old days probably isn't going to do anything for you but put you back to sleep. Sorry. …I wish there was something I could do that would work. I know, I'm the genius, I should've figured it out by now, but- I'm not figuring out anything. Don't worry, I'm still thinking. …I'm just not coming up with anything."

There was another quiet sigh, and when the low voice continued, it was the slightest bit hopeful. "…In the spirit of Icha Icha, Yamato- would you wake up for a kiss? I saved you, after all, but in the rules dictated by Icha Icha, the damsel in distress never wakes up without a kiss from the dashing prince."

Senpais and kohais, shameless sexual harassment, and Icha Icha?

_Kakashi-senpai…?_

Yamato gave up not hoping. Nothing was stopping that hope now.

There was a low, utterly familiar groan. "If calling you a damsel in distress didn't get you up, I suppose nothing will."

The silence after those words was long- sad, almost. Yamato felt like he should apologize to Kakashi now, say he was really very sorry for causing all this trouble and Kakashi didn't have to be worried about him, really, he didn't, that he was fine and not dying anymore. And then thank him for getting him home, because surely, that was Kakashi. Kakashi was always saving him. No matter the cost to himself, he was always, always there.

"God damn it, Yamato. I've lost enough people in this war. I'm not going to lose you, too."

His voice was openly angry, now- desperate, even, and Yamato never would've believed he could ever hear such emotion directed at him if it weren't happening now. He should feel guilty for making Kakashi sound like this, for making his voice tremble and break, for _hurting_ him, but he couldn't find guilt in him.

There was no room for it, not beside this full, warm feeling spreading throughout his body from the tips of his toes to the very tip of his hair, making him feel so light he felt like he might float right off the bed.

He was enough to make someone sound like that.

Not his little miniature Hashiramas.

_Him_.

"So, don't keep your favorite senpai waiting too long, ne, Yamato?"

_That had better be you, Kakashi-senpai, because I'll be pretty mad if any else is trying to take your title of my favorite senpai. _

There was a deep, lurking pain in that voice, though, a pain that Yamato recognized after years of putting up with Kakashi's moods and sullen, sulky grunts after those bad missions when neither one of them wanted to talk but Yamato didn't know what else, _who_ else to turn to but Kakashi. That pain was probably his fault, he thought, for waking up so many times but never bothering to tell Kakashi so. Kakashi was worrying for nothing.

But Kakashi was _worrying_, and that made him happy in a way he could not describe. His heart swelled to ten times its size to know that there was someone _there_, _beside him, caring_, and he wanted nothing more than to smile.

And, if he died, he would be missed for something more than his little miniature Hashiramas.

The effort to open his eyes was still enormous, but, now, somehow, more than worth it.

And if the promise of making Kakashi stop worrying wasn't enough to make it worth it, then his waiting smile certainly was.


End file.
